


How Matters End

by thaliachaunacy (thalialunacy)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-17
Updated: 2007-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalialunacy/pseuds/thaliachaunacy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with Ron & Draco before the final battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Matters End

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d graciously by [Samuti](http://samuti.livejournal.com). Inspired by reality, a [Hogwarts Elite](http://hogwarts-elite.livejournal.com) challenge, and a Tori Amos song called ‘Real Men’. Obvious line from _Slaughterhouse 5_.

Well.

So it goes.

Dirt on my shoes, rain swirling it to mud. Blood on my hands, rain tracing pink lines down to the ground.

It's like the battle at Stoatshead all over again, only I don't have any hope here.

Then again, I didn’t exactly have any hope during that massacre, either, did I?

No, not really.

I just sucked it up, said 'fuck em', and did what I knew needed to be done. Tactics and Ministry rules be damned.

And we fucking won.

So I’ll do it again.

Even though I won't win here.

I can’t win.

I know this.

We will not win. The dark wizards are so on top of us we're all looking up their arses.

Figuratively. Thank Merlin.

But as he stands there glaring at me, Draco can kiss mine.

I say never regret, but if I could wave my wand and take something back? I'd talk him out of joining us. Make him stay there, spoilt in riches, protected by snobbery and dark magic.

But instead he’s here. Mud on his shoes, as well, and a badly-shaken smirk on his face. Just as in-fucking-furiating as ever, and I wish I could take it all back.

Or maybe it's a sign. A hint. A big fucking clue I was supposed to get a long time ago, about how people don’t change. Things don't get better.

They just get on with it.

The good guys won't win, not this time, because evil will always exploit scruples unchallenged. But if the battles must be fought, then I will fight them the only way I know how.

This battle is bigger than me. I must remember that. I spent a dozen years in school and training convincing myself; I'm bloody well not going to give it up now. Even without hope, even without assurance, even without anyone telling me things are going to be alright.

Even with this cranky blonde git next to me, I’m almost alone enough to feel peace with this end.

“There’s dirt on your face, Weasley.”

My jaw clenches. I shift my crouched weight away from one foot to the other.

“And it looks like you’re bleeding.”

Waiting for the signal, that’s all I’m doing. Waiting for what must be coming to finish us off.

“You should fix that nasty cut.”

I wipe my nose. Blood gets mixed in, either from my nose or from my sleeve, but I barely glance at it. The rain’ll splatter it all away soon. Either that, or I’ll be dead. Or, of course, both.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Malfoy.”

We’re always the same. Caught in the rain, wasting time on the ground while life—or death, this time—approaches us. Trading thoughts and barbs and inanities.

“Well, I just think if we’re going to die, we should at least do it well.”

A snort makes it out of me. I look down at the ground. Water rivulets make tracks around my torn shoes.

“It doesn’t fucking matter now.”

There’s a splash and suddenly I’m shoved over in the dirt. I look up at him, shooting daggers, but he merely lifts an eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of him.

“Yes, it does. Matter now. More than ever.”

Of course, he’s right.

And so it goes.


End file.
